Mirrored Masks
by FujimoriChikaru
Summary: To live happily, they have to ignore everything stereotypes tell them to wear, act, be. Nobody else has to know they walk and talk in facades; the only one who needs to know already does. It's why he loves her, and it's why she loves him. RinLen.


**Happy New Years!**

**So, kicking off the new year with some Kagamincest. Probably not what any of my readers expected but, hey, *shrugs* I felt like writing some. Besides, it's about time I posted up some Het...  
**

**So, I got way deeper into this than I even thought I would... but I think I like it this way, so. This is basically the story that just takes Rin's tomboyish attitudes and Len's own lack of masculinity to a whole new level... you know, utterly destroying everything you've ever thought about the Kagamines thus far, all whilst utilizing the overused mirror metaphors and references and such, you know. Nothing new.  
**

**Also, this is rated M for a reason. You know the one.  
**

**And remember guys: **I do not own Vocaloid

* * *

**Mirrored Masks**

He doesn't like to look in the mirror.

He has long-since become accustomed to tying his hair up high, and has no problem doing so without reference to his reflection. On the occasional bad hair day he asks Gakupo-nii real nice and promises to smuggle him another of Luka-nee's shirts (that he'll end up replacing the next day after much prompt from his guilty conscience) – but he doesn't look directly at mirrors, or windows, or the back of his CDs, or _any_ reflective surfaces, if he has a choice. He doesn't like to.

He closes his eyes when Manager's crew gets him ready for concerts. The makeup and dress-up takes unnecessarily long, but it gives him time to run over his lyrics and routine, and he's more awake after than before, in any case. He hates when the workers – nice ladies, though, all of them – ask his opinion - "Here, look; now, with blue over; now red," as he stands in the full-length glass bare-chested, and watches the Head of the makeup hold hangers of different outfits in different colors in front of him, and he has to force himself to honestly consider each option before telling her he trusts her judgment repeatedly until he finally concedes with, "Do we have anything in teal?"-

Rin's eyes are teal

-which they never do, but they always end up going with the Head's first choice in the end – and their chatter as they work is annoying, too – always complaints of Minako's probably-cheating husband and Kana's ungrateful children – and it isn't too bad and while he personally doesn't enjoy prep time so much he's fine with it.

Rin loves prep time.

He reigns in his temper when his family mess up the particular order he'd had the house in before he left, and fixes it with only minute frustration. He forces himself to stop and think every problem through rationally, and he refrains from acting impulsively. He's weak and easily frightened – he won't deny that time he fainted at the sight of the tarantula at a pet store – and Kaito-nii used to tease him (until Rin ripped apart all of his scarves and oversized white jackets) with Gakupo-nii (until Rin cut off clumps of smooth and silky purple hair and turned over the bed and everything else in his room) but it doesn't bother him as much as it should. Meiko still teases him, but only when she's drunk, and Rin braved a drunk Meiko only once for his sake and declared unwilling to do so ever again.

He still loves Rin for that.

In all honesty he's not _quite_ as easy to scare as he acts. He actually likes high-wind speeds and heights and the release of dropping down tens of feet when he's on the roller coaster; he only acts like he's afraid.

Rin knows.

He's only worn dresses and skirts to a few concerts and music videos, when it's required – no-buts-about-it required – and only then. Or so everyone else thinks – they don't know that putting on dresses and skirts cheers him up on a bad day the way a banana smoothie does.

Rin knows.

His voice can't hit the low notes. He's tried, several times: once when he was encouraged by his family after he'd admitted it with hot cheeks, and then many more in the solitude of his room or the studio when it was empty only to fail every time. His voice can't hit the low notes, but it can hit the high notes, the ones that only Miku-nee and Gumi could ever replicate. He doesn't make a point of showing that much off, but he's proud he can smoothly pitch his voice up an octave mid-word. Nobody else knows, they think he's still embarrassed he still can't deepen his voice.

Rin knows.

He licks his lips, tastes the orange chap stick he'd applied first thing that morning (as he does every morning) when Rin asks him if he'd like to ride the biggest roller coaster in the amusement park pretty-please-with-triple-scoops-for-your-banana-sundae-with-orange-sprinkles-on-top with teal eyes wide and full of fear she's swallowed down.

He agrees with nerves he doesn't feel, face pink only from the look in her wide teal eyes rather than the embarrassment everyone else assumes; he pretends the butterflies in his stomach are fluttering in frantic panic.

But Rin knows.

* * *

She refuses to look in the mirror.

She doesn't really have to do anything that _requires_ a mirror when she wakes up – get dressed, brush her hair, and she can put on her ribbon with her eyes closed, not exactly a hard thing to do. Her hair is straight enough but on the occasional bad hair day when it gets really annoying and in her face and everywhere, she slams the door to Meiko's room straightener in hand and later smuggles some sake into the room from the stash that everyone keeps secret from her (she finds no guilt in this whatsoever; Meiko can get really funny when she's trashed, and sometimes nicer and more open, too) – but she never ever ever looks at anything that will reflect. She refuses to.

She keeps her eyes shut-tight when the crew work on her before a concert or show or MV. She feels like she's getting pampered, almost, and she's always reminded of a spa, and she tries not to doz off because falling asleep before a live show especially is just asking for trouble. The workers have already given up on asking what she thinks, because she never ever ever opens her eyes, but whenever they ask if there are any colors she prefers, she always asks, "We got anything in turquoise?"-

Len's eyes are turquoise

-but they never do, which is dumb because she's been asking for it for the past forever but oh well. She likes when they talk about their date nights and complain about their unappreciative husbands and children – the girls are really funny, and they give her beauty tips sometimes and she doesn't even have to ask. As much fun as prep time is, and the rare naps she gets by so long as her head doesn't nod, and as much as she loves it she can do without.

Len doesn't really like prep time.

She flares up and goes all-out over the little things, and loves messing with the order of the house _just _enough to be noticed (by Len, anyway). She can find the best, most efficient answer to a problem without too much thought, but prefers to go with whatever comes to mind first, to just go with the flow. She's strong and doesn't scare easily and acts more like a boy than a girl – so she likes playing with bugs, whatever – and Miku-nee used to tease her (until Len hid all her leeks and props and stuff so she couldn't work) with Gumi (until Len got a hold of her schedule and got Gakupo-nii to follow her everywhere and embarrass her). Meiko teases her once in a while, but only when she's drunk and drunk teasing is Meiko's way of showing affection anyway. Len did stand up to her once because he didn't know any better, even after he saw what happened when _she_ stood up to drunk Meiko a few weeks before, before _she_ knew any better, and it wasn't too pretty. She only told him about Meiko's drunk teasing after he told her, through a swollen jaw, that he would do it over again if he had the chance.

She still loves Len for that.

To tell the truth she's not _quite_ as the brave front she pulls up. She's actually always been a little scared of the stalled up-climb and abrupt drop and sharp wind of roller coasters; she only acts like it's never bothered her.

Len knows.

She wears pretty frilly dresses when she needs to, for songs and performances and MVs, and when she doesn't, she struts around the house after Miku-nee and Gumi and sometimes Luka-nee or sometimes just Meiko give her a makeover and dress her up, because she looks good and she likes to look good. Or so everyone thinks – they don't know that the hems are uncomfortable and she doesn't like all the open-ness and the funny sleeves are to tight on her arms and the front and back only emphasize her own lack of... assets. They don't know that she prefers sweats and slacks and shorts and long-enough-to-be-a-dress shirts and sweatshirts and white button-up shirts cheer her up on a bad day like only an orange shake does.

Len knows.

She can't do high notes that well. She's physically capable, she's done it before, but oft times her voice cracks mid-word and then she has to record the same line over again until she gets it right, or sometimes she gets so fed up she convinces Len to do that one line so she can finish the song. She's pretty good at low notes, though – as low as she can get them, anyway, which is significantly lower than Len can get his, and way lower than Miku-nee or Gumi. She's complained about it enough for their family to nod whenever she starts ranting about how _stupid_ that she can't get her notes _right_ no matter how_ long_ and _hard _she practices and practices. Nobody else knows that she's kind of relieved, that her voice can't get all ear-splitting sharp, they think she's still mad; they don't know that she like talking in low pitches in funny voices just to be silly.

Len knows.

She licks her lips, tastes the banana-flavored chap stick she'd put on that morning (just like she does every morning) when she asks Len if he would pretty-please-with-triple-scoops-for-his-banana-sundae-with-orange-sprinkles-on-top ride the biggest roller coaster in the amusement park with her, her blue-green eyes locked with his turquoise, and she hopes her voice doesn't give away the fear she'd pressed down.

She loves that he agrees after a short pause, even as her heart beats faster and faster and she has to swallow a huge lump in her throat. She can't look away from his turquoise eyes, even as her palms start to sweat and fingers twitch, even as she has to count in her head to keep her breaths even, even as she has to pretend she's getting all worked up from excitement.

But Len knows.

* * *

His grunt is distinctly feminine when she pushes him down on the bed.

She loves that about him.

She's aggressive as she pushes up the black-and-white checkered skirt to his thighs, roughly pulls his legs apart, sits herself atop him.

He loves that about her.

"I want you," She leans down and growls in his ear. Her rolling hips pull a high moan from his throat. "_now_"

He bucks up to her, bites down on his glossy shining lips with his two front teeth, tries and fails to muffle another moan when her tongue flicks his ear.

Her nails, uneven and sharp from constant biting, trace down his neck, gently, just enough to tickle, and he can't help his resulting squirms. He brings up a leg, pale and smooth and unblemished, and tries to hook it over her shoulder. She grabs his ankle, moves her hand slowly down from his shin to his knee to his thigh, teases him again with her nails. She closes her eyes as he bucks his hips and arches his back, licks her lips when she feels how hard he is, under her, and tries to keep face even as she shudders.

He loosens his tight grip on the wrinkled blanket and grabs hold of her shoulders and his own nails, even and clean and kept, tease the front of her pinstripe shirt. His fingers stop at her black vest, and he hurriedly undoes the buttons under, even as she's pushing his skirts up higher, to cup his hands around her small breasts over her lacy brassiere. He hears her breathing hitch, feels her lips against his neck purse, and he knows through her trembling, she's struggling to keep quiet. The zipper in the back is undone before he feels her push the flimsy black sleeves of his dress down to his elbows, then his wrists, and the black front wrinkles and folds up as it meets the skirt and tulle netting of the petticoats at his stomach. There's a short pause, then, and he can feel the hunger in her stare.

She smiles prettily when he turn his head and meets her eyes before her gaze flickers back to his chest, bare and lanky. Her head, at his neck, lowers as she licks and nips and sucks a trail downwards before she stops at one nipple, already perked, and nibbles on and around it.

She feels his arousal harden and twitch, under her and between her legs, from its confinement in (she doesn't laugh only because she's promised not to) thin white panties, and it only encourages her to lick, suck, bite harder, rake her fingers down her chest until she reaches his stomach, where his dress further obstructs her. His whines and whimpers are far from soft by the time she pulls off his underwear, rubs against him in only her pants (he'd discarded her bra while she was feeling him up), all the while panting and groaning in his ear.

He can feel her lips curve into an eager grin when he finally moves his hands where he'd once again braced them on her shoulders. He slides his hands down, idly fingers her rosy nipples, circle them with his thumbs, scrape against them gently with his nails, until she is more grunting and moaning than breathing. He plays with the hem of her black slacks, runs his finger on the skin above it back and forth across her hips before he undoes the button inside, unzip the zipper. He licks his lips, slowly because he knows she's watching, slides the smooth material down impatiently until she has to kick it off herself, and he uses the opportunity to run his hands down her legs, pale and decorated with scabs and and scars and nicks from her careless shaving. She sits abruptly, and he knows it's only so she can pull off both their socks, so he only leans his head back on the pillow and watches her, enjoys the view.

Some of her hair is in her face, but she can't find it in herself to care as she lays herself on top of him again, bare but for her boxers (she knows the only reason he isn't laughing is because he's promised not to), arms braced on either side of him. He wraps his arms around her neck, wraps his legs around her waist, and his hips roll in time with hers. Her breaths hit his lips, as does his hers, for a few seconds as they rub against each other until they, as one, suck in a deep breath and meet half-way into a rushed and sloppy kiss.

One of his hands is tangled in her hair, the other curved against her back where his nails are digging into her skin; one of her hands is curved against the back of his neck, bracing him, the other is, like his, against her back, pushing him up and closer to her. Teeth clink, scrape and bite against each other's lips; fingers grab, clutch and dig into shoulders and arms and legs; nails scrape and scratch and dig into skin; they're both moving on pure instinct, on what feels good – on what they want and need. It isn't long before they're both struggling to get her out of her underwear.

They're both sweating a thin sheet of perspiration already, and she's wet and he's leaking from the rocking of their bodies. His legs unwrap from around her so she can position herself better, legs spread, while he pushes his dress further up so it won't get in her way.

She's already looking deep into her eyes when he looks back up to her.

He licks his lips, pauses when she does the same, and grips her hips firmly, but not roughly. He waits for her to tilt her head, and she waits for him to nod, and takes a deep breath.

She grips onto his patterned skirt, and drops herself on him.

He lets out a high whine, and she grunts and hisses through her teeth. They're both still for a few seconds – getting used to him in her, her around him – but only a few-

-It's not the first time they've done this.

Her voice is low and shaky when she tells him, "Move, Len."

Len keeps his hands on her, rubs small circles with his thumbs before he pushes her down, bucks up sharply.

"A-_AH_!"

"Mmm, Rin..."

Rin whimpers, stops, grits her teeth. She licks her lips, braces herself, lifts and seats herself back atop Len. She pants, does it again, gasps, does it again, moans, does it again, sighs, again, slowly, quickening her pace steadily, until Len can meet his thrusts up with hers down.

Establishing an even, albeit fast-paced, rhythm didn't take long.

Noise wasn't an issue with them – they made as much or as little as they pleased, and, maybe because their rooms were on a separate floor from everyone else or maybe because no one else really cared, but – no one in their family bothered them about it. There were no interruptions as Rin grunted and Len yelped, as Rin groaned and Len moaned, as Rin sighed and Len whined. The noises they made were their own, between only the two of them to know and share and love.

Love...

"Haa~ Len!"

"Rin, you're–mm!"

"A-ah, Len, I-I can't–"

"Rin I-I-almost–"

"I – ohhh~! – I-I-I!"

"Rin, I'm–"

"-close-"

"–so close!"

Love was what helped them understand themselves, kept them sane.

"Len I-I-lo-"

"I-love-you!"

"l-l-_love_! _you_!"

"Rin!"

"_Len!_"

Love is what's helping them be true to themselves, keeping them together, now.

Even as they come down from their high, gasp for air, blink their vision clear, they're holding tightly on to each other, breathing each other's air, watching each other.

He is her secretkeeper as she is his, her security blanket as she is his, her other half as she is his.

She is his as he is hers.

Love is what will help them continue living as they do, will keep them happy as they do so.

Tired and spent, they reach with clumsy fingers for their blankets and comforter, bunched up at the foot of their bed and piled on the floor, drape the sheets over themselves haphazardly until they deem the warmth satisfactory-

-they have each other to share body heat, anyway.

Just 'fore they fall asleep, though, Rin flips them over, and Len lays his head on her chest.

Old habits.

. . .

The next day, he wakes up early, waits a few minutes to wake her up.

They share his shower because they have no reason not to, and she likes using up his shampoo and body wash, anyway (she doesn't use his conditioner, she never uses it she shampoos twice; she's sure that makes up for it). She sneaks in a few gropes and he bats her hand away like he disapproves when they both know he doesn't, but he still gets them out of the shower when the scent of sex is off them before they can continue where they left off the night before.

She doesn't remark on the towel draped over the mirror in the bathroom as they pass it by; she'd gotten rid of her own soon as she could.

Freshened up, they dress and brush and fix their hair. When he kisses her she can taste the chapstick on his lips, and she grins wide and toothy because she knows he can taste hers.

He ties his own hair that day just as she ties the ribbon in her own. They have no concerts or music videos to film so they don't have to do prep time. She messes with his meticulous order of something or other in the house and he fixes it. Gumi comes up to them with a riddle that takes him half an hour to solve and _her_ less than a minute, though _she_ never admits it. He freaks when he sees snails on their walk out, and she pokes their shells a bit before she steers them away. They go for a ride in the Road Roller and sabotaging Kaito-nii's day as opposed to a ride at the amusement park, because it's something neither of them fears. Their day is good, so they don't crossdress only because it's something they save for bad days. They complain about how their voices can't hit the right notes, and everyone nods because it's all the same as the time before. They kiss when they pass each other in the hallway, when they run into each other at the kitchen for a snack, when they park the Road Roller back in the garage, whenever they feel like it. It's just another day.

It's always just another day in the masks they've made, masks that reflect and contrast with one another's – mirrored masks.

And, while everyone else might be fooled, he knows what she's wearing under her pants, and she knows what he's wearing under his.

* * *

**To anyone who read, I hope you enjoyed; this was actually kind of fun to write, and I think I might write something else with this ship, you know, eventually, assuming I get some positive feedback, if anyone actually likes this.  
**

**If you has any questions, comments, concerns, constructive criticism, etc., please review or send a message and I'll get back to you when I can.**

**Ja Ne =D!**


End file.
